


Just another notch on the tree of good and evil, just another garden of earthly delights

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Cum Eating, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Religious Themes, Slight angst maybe?, Teacher/Pupil dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Uther and his Student get caught in a storm. With Sexy Results.
Relationships: Uther the Lightbringer/Arthas Menethil
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Just another notch on the tree of good and evil, just another garden of earthly delights

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for a friend, who i adore with all my silly little heart. they know who they are <3
> 
> Age-wise i think this takes place when Arthas is about 21-22? But yeah age difference is mentioned in the tags so pls read those before you read this thank u.

The storm seemed to come out of nowhere. What started as a steely grey sky in the morning became bitterly dark and churning by midafternoon. The cusp of winter was a poor time of year for pilgrimage, but they had to make the most of what time they did have together. Uther wasn’t sure how much longer Arthas would remain in his care.

Arthas had become so distant lately, in every possible sense of the word. Uther knew his inevitable loss would be to duty, or to travel, or to love – this was just a part of taking acolytes, sacrificing a part of his life in the service of shaping another. If Arthas left, and did well for himself, then Uther could take comfort in knowing he had succeeded in his vocation. Yet, somewhat paradoxically, Uther feared the loss of this one in the softest part of his soul. Arthas had been his first true pupil, after all. The one he had guided with all his heart. Losing him would be like losing a part of himself, because Arthas had _always_ been Uther’s favourite. 

This boded poorly in its own right. Every knight in the order knew that it was not very just to have favourites.

They hurried to set up camp for the night under the shadow of an encroaching storm, erecting a tent beside a copse at the bottom of a small outcrop of rocks. With the wind rising and the sky beginning to roil, they heaved their packs inside the tent and crawled in after them.

Arthas, listless for nearly the whole journey thus far, sat silently on his bedroll with his legs folded neatly under him. Uther wasted no time divesting himself of his armour inside the cramped space. The temperature was dropping fast – far away Uther could hear a rumble of thunder, like a shaman summoning the spirits of the sky, to rain fury on the land and sea.

“Something on your mind?” He asked, setting his pauldrons down and beginning to loosen the straps on his breastplate. The metal was bitingly cold to the touch, and his undershirt was chilled and wet with sweat against his back. He was looking forward to pulling clean linen against his skin.

Arthas turned his face him, and hooked a loose hank of hair back behind his ear.

“Not really.”

Vague. Also clearly a lie. Uther sighed, a weight falling on his mind even as the burden of his cuirass dropped from his body. His bones ached with relief as he cast the thing aside.

“You need to change,” He told the youth defeatedly, “or you’ll freeze.”

“We should have stayed in the village yesterday,” Arthas said as he began to undress. “or taken mounts.”

“Traditionally, the pilgrim travels on foot.”

“Traditionally, the pilgrim travels in summer.”

The clang of his shoulder piece sliding off him was muffled by the wind, whipping through the dense canopy of leaves above the tent. Beneath his armour, he wore a tunic drenched in sweat as well. Uther watched him strip in quiet contemplation, noting the elegant power in the muscles that contoured his shoulders and chest. The labour of his training had benefited his body, even if it’s purpose had been to hone his mind. Uther had lost count of how many times he had thought Arthas might be forged by the hand of the light itself, and how many times he had warmed in his heart when he was presented with the opportunity to behold him. He cherished each moment like a sacrament, between himself and the hallowed threads of destiny which saw fit to cross their journeys, and in solitude he thought of them often.

“The season of opportunity wins out above all others I’m afraid.”

Arthas hummed, and reached for his pack, extracting a fresh shirt and tugging it over his head. The walls of the tent shivered in the cold. Uther felt the skin on his back prickle, and remembered that he was supposed to finish dressing himself as well. Wordlessly, they rolled out furs and coverlets to sleep on, and began to settle in for the night.

Twilight closed in fast, and so did the rain. The pair of them lay side by side in silence, alone with each other and with their separate thoughts. Arthas seemed restless, but he did not ask for comment on what was troubling him. Uther, somewhat concerned but weary from the travel they had endured, began to reflect on those things they used to talk about, when Arthas was younger. When they had first been on journeys together, or found themselves in shared bedspace, Arthas would brag of his friends and his little victories without being asked. Once or twice, he had even asked Uther’s advice about a young woman by the name of Jaina Proudmoore. Uther, of course, had been unable to help him with that - matters of romantic love were as foreign to him as the magic of demons.

These days, Arthas had become recalcitrant concerning the soft talk of social connections. He had become recalcitrant about most things, actually, and Uther almost regretted bringing him out here like this. As darkness began to fall over the mountain and spill into the valley, and the winds pushed the rain sideways against the side of the tent, Uther could just make out the expression of sorrow creeping over Arthas’ face like spindly ice fingers spreading across a pond. It was disconcerting to see him so morose - he had been such a vibrant child, once upon a time.

“Are you quite sure you’re okay?” Uther asked, squinting to peer at him through the encroaching night. He looked to be shivering beneath his fur lined coverlet – Unusual, considering he was adept with the light. All the knights in the order knew the techniques to maintain body heat. Perhaps his fortitude was compromised by the exhaustion of their trip?

“Fine.” Came the reply.

Uther frowned, rolling over and taking it upon himself to extend a hand and warm him. It was an invitation, really, to sink back into his chest and seek solace in the embrace of a brother in arms. Uther had thought perhaps he might not take it, given the distance he had put between them lately, but even deep in mournful thoughts Arthas found it in himself to lean back appreciatively into his chest. Arthas’ frame notched against his so naturally, and Uther felt such softness in his heart to hold him like this again. He couldn’t remember the last time Arthas had accepted this kind of intimacy, and he had privately missed these more than he dared to acknowledge. Though sharing an embrace or a touch with peers was common among the knights, there were none in the order who he would rather hold. There were none in the order so dear to him as this one. This secret was his greatest shame, as well as his greatest treasure. He felt honored that here, in the dark, in the night, on the very edge of an approaching gale, Arthas yielded his walls enough to seek his skin.

“I know you’re lying.” he said gently.

“Maybe I would rather keep this to myself.”

“A burden shared is a burden halved.”

Arthas huffed, and wriggled a little in his grip.

“This journeying has made me tired,” he offered brusquely. “I’ve had much too much time alone with my thoughts, and I’ve been questioning the parallels of pilgrimage and my own life path.”

“Parallels? Parallels how?”

“I’ve been thinking about Jaina,” he said. “And wondering if my walk on the road of destiny will always feel like this.”

“Like… what?”

“I don’t know. This.” One of his hands, gripping Uther’s arm, tightened enough that Uther could feel his fingernails leaving half-moons on his skin. “Aimless walking, I suppose.”

Aimless?

Uther was confused. Aimlessness was not typically a stress that servants of the light had to bear. His own direction had always been strong, and innate within him – like a compass swung towards the lands of the North, Uther was always drawn to undertake righteous duty across the face of Azeroth. Until now, Arthas had never given any sign that he lacked this same guidance. Anyone who lay eyes on him could have seen he was deeply loved by all sacred and mystical things.

“You have lost the feeling of the lights guidance?”

Arthas did not reply, for a little while. Uther didn’t need to see him to visualize his expression. His furrowed brow, downturned lips. He could even visualize the way the shadows shifted behind his pupils as the thought particularly hard.

“I don’t think so,” he answered carefully. “But I think… there have been moments of doubt. Do you ever want more, Uther, than what fate has deigned fit to provide you?”

Uther laughed at this, though his pulse was beginning to elevate, and a strange nervousness was stealing over him like a frost on a plain at midnight.

“What more could there be?”

“I’m not sure. Could be anything.” Arthas paused again, before continuing. “More power to protect the weak. More glory to beget more power. The ability to clap my hands, or raise my sword, and restore perfect justice to the unjust world.”

What a strange thought to have. Not to mention concerningly zealous. 

“We are only human men, Arthas. We do as human men do.”

 _And what do human men do?_ Uther wondered to himself _. They ponder possibilities, that’s for sure. They succumb to their weaknesses and base desires. They love, and war, and eat, and fuck._

And for what?

Uther did not do many of these things. Was this by choice, or was it by divine guidance? Were there other paths that had been available to him, paths he had never even considered, because he had been content with his prescription for a honorable, devout life? He realized quite suddenly that even now, there was a milieu of options before him. One of them struck him with a shocking intensity.

_I could comfort him. I could try to._

But how? If the reassurance of a brother was not enough, then what else could he do? His heart ached even trying to think of it, and without fully deciding to do so he felt one of his hands moving, coming to rest lightly on the crown of Arthas’ head. This made the man laugh a haughty, but affectionate laugh.

“Uther, might I ask a question?”

“Always. Anything.”

“Did you ever lay with a woman before you took your vows?”

Oh.

What kind of a question was that?!

“Uh, No. I didn’t.”

“Do you regret that?”

“… I don’t think so?”

Why would he even ask such a thing?

Uther supposed that he _had_ said he was thinking about Jaina. Was he missing erotic comforts, now she was estranged from him? He decided this had to be it, and the pair of them fell silent. The rain cloaked their peacefulness in a mantle of winter, and made the warmth that built between them feel even deeper. Uther had very nearly slipped into sleep, when Arthas spoke again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is the punishment for breaking your vows?”

“The guilt is the punishment,” Uther answered blearily. “The burden of knowing you are weak and undisciplined, and strayed from your righteous path.”

“Path again,” Arthas sounded introspective – a rare occurrence, since he had never been of a particularly self-critical stripe. “Don’t you get lonely? On that path?”

“I have my brothers.”

“And what do you have at night? When it’s dark and you can’t sleep and there’s a storm outside?”

A heavy question, made heavier by the way it resounded through the darkness. Beyond the confides of the tent, the wind picked up and began to howl.

“I have… the memory of loved ones.” Uther thought very carefully about his answer, “Family found, students guided. And…”

And him. Especially him. Uther had a golden youth curled against his breast, pure and glorious and breathtaking like the chilled sun of a tundra dawn.

“And that’s enough for you?”

“It is.”

Silence.

“I want try something,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

“That depends what it is.”

“It’s hard to explain. Do you trust me?”

“I… Yes?”

Uther was pretty sure he did.

Arthas turned around, and pressed closer. His skin was soft, and smooth, and heavenly – easily the most sensual thing Uther had ever felt against his own. Long, straight hair slid like satin against his chest, and Arthas’ breath was warm and soft on his clavicle. The light touch of air when he exhaled resonated deep in Uther’s core, and every hair on his body prickled deliciously when the tip of that thin, elegant nose slid over the front of his throat. His heart was frenetic beneath his ribs.

The heat of a kiss, ghosting the place where his neck became his jawbone, startled him deeply. The contact was out of nowhere, and immediately tangible between his legs. It throbbed with a sudden, feverish desperation that reminded him of hunger, and it could not be abated by clenching his muscles, or by sucking in a sharp breath and trying to pull away. Arthas caught his face with ease, and held his cheeks firmly between two cool hands. He pressed their foreheads together, as if waiting to see if Uther would shove him off, but when he didn’t (too stunned by what was happening? Too captivated?) he leaned in and kissed on the mouth. The shock was like a killing blow to his psyche.

Arthas tasted like fresh melted snow, sweet with youth and the clear, crystalline glimmer of the light. He pressed his body smoothly against Uther’s chest, slunk his thigh firmly between Uther's legs - When he sunk his tongue into his mouth, Uther realized he could taste blood. It was as though Arthas had cut his gums with a sharp blade, and his life was slowly spreading across the back of his teeth. It was intoxicating, and it was terrifying and terribly, deliriously good. Broad, strong hands were pulling at his clothing – Arthas dragged his shirt off his back, and his hands mapped Uther’s chest and sides and counted all the faded scars healed by the touch of the divine. Uther registered distantly that this was _absolutely_ something he should resist, but having him so close like this was arresting his capacity to think clearly or to remember himself and his morality. Kissing him was more spectacular than anything else he could ever think of, and he realized quite suddenly when Arthas dragged his nails over his hips that his body was desperate to feel Arthas touch him. It always had been. Uther kissed him back, and clutched his hips in handfuls of reckless, feverish want.

The sounds Arthas made were like the ones he made when he was arcing a massive sword overhead. His panting melted into a whimper when Uther caressed the small of his back, and Uther could tell his hands were shaking but then, so was the rest of him. Arthas ground their hips together hard, and they rolled and twisted around each other blindly in the dark. The covers and furs slid off their backs, baring swathes of naked flesh to the cold air, and the wind seemed to billow around the tent so hard that the very structure felt like it might give out on top of them. Uther was far too overwhelmed to notice. The kisses bestowed on him were so hard that there were moments he forgot to breathe.

When Arthas finally broke away for a moment, Uther spluttered to swallow down huge mouthfuls of air. He coiled his fists in those magnificent locks, feeling a shiver of white-hot bliss when Arthas’ calloused hands squished between their bodies. He couldn’t help but groan when those fingers curled around his cock. The touch was alien, but delicious. Even sweeter than those moments when Uther stood alone in the cathedral of the light, and gazed upon the gem-like shadows the rose windows cast on the floor. Uther had always resisted the urge to take himself in hand, even on nights he would wake with his loins pounding for relief, and all his life his only sin was that which spilled between his sheets in sleep. All those years of restraint though, crumbled to nothing under the impetus of instinct. Evolution had impressed upon him the knowledge of how to pursue his pleasure. He whined into Arthas’ mouth, and let his hips rock up into his hand.

“Not as holy as you think you are, are you?” Arthas breathed between their lips. “Unless you want me to stop?”

“Don’t stop,” Uther told him without hesitation. “Please.”

“Then touch me too.”

He rolled back, pulling Uther on top of him, and Uther pushed aside blankets and furs to press his hand between his thighs. Arthas moaned lowly, enthralled, when Uther’s fingers slipped inside his pants. Uther had no idea how to perform this favour, but his blood felt hot and he was aching to lay as much of their flesh together as possible. He stroked his cock tentatively, feeing him unfurl at the caress like a flower blossoming in the night. Uther remembered quite spontaneously that Arthas was just a young man. He was not some powerful knight, not some untouchable veteran, not some wise sage - he still had not made a name for himself, yet. A sudden urge to protect his charge swelled within him. A desire to keep him, guard him, satisfy him, lead him, do any other number of good, beautiful things for his benefit because Arthas was his favourite and now he was here. He really was taking his first steps on his life’s journey, and while he did he was desperate for someone who loved him to hold his hand. 

Arthas groped for his face, beckoning another kiss which Uther delivered with reverence. The part of him in Uther’s palm was hot, and starting to grow slippery with the fluid that dripped from the tip. Uther served him as best as he could, fumbling his way even as Arthas let his head tip back and swore breathlessly into the dark. Uther wondered how his face looked, contorted in pleasure, but no matter how he strained his eyes he could see naught more than the gloom that clutched them. He could feel this thoughts numbed by the sound of Arthas’ voice. His desire surfaced again, breaching his restraint if he even had any left – somehow, somewhere, the line between carnal need and holy devotion had become irrevocably knitted, and maybe later he would wonder if he might ever separate the two again. For now though, all he wanted was to make Arthas finish for him. All he wanted was to bring his neophyte to the very stoop of the throne of glory. This glory, though, was the kind often praised by those strange zealots, who espoused the greatness of creation through perpetual ecstasy.

 _Yes_.

Uther realized as Arthas’ legs began to shake, and his breath became short and sharp and fast, that he was about to make another person cum for the first time in his life. That the person, moreover, wasn’t just some stranger or some harlot. That person he was bound to now was _Arthas_. Someone he loved with all he was, someone he thought he would love forever, even after they were both dead, and rotted deep in their graves. Feeling Arthas’ hips rock to meet his palm, feeling his fingers tighten against his shoulders, was closer to transcendent than Uther had ever been, and it was ironic that after so many decades supine before the light, it was only now that Uther felt a transformation in his heart that he had never felt before. It made every other experience he had had pale in comparison.

Was this it then? His true purpose?

Arthas moaned his name when he finished, and a rush of ecstasy passed through Uther’s very soul. It felt like his essence was being shattered and reformed again, a mirror image of the man whose seed was spilling over his knuckles. A groan of his own pulled from him, and he realized he had been holding his breath, and between his legs his cock was aching like a fractured bone. He rutted against Arthas’ hip in a silent plea for reciprocity. Arthas, though, sounded ruined when he spoke again.

“I can’t,” He said quietly. “You have vows to keep.”

The blankets over them rustled, barely audibly over the wind and rain, as he pushed Uther back onto the bedroll. Uther’s hand dripped, smearing cum over the furs, and with a disgusted little noise Arthas pushed the covers away and exposed both of their bodies to the cold. When he lay against him again, he reached for Uther’s messy hand. Uther thought to ask what he was doing, but had the thought stolen from him when he felt something hot and wet slide over his fingertips.

 _Tongue,_ he sensed hazily, through the fog of lust that had filled every crevasse of his consciousness. _That’s his tongue._

Arthas had a warm, soft mouth, sliding his tongue between Uther’s fingers even after every last drip of cum was gone. The sound was so lewd, coupled with soft moans that urged him to finish, and Uther was trembling under the duress of his body. The weak, dream state sensation of his nighttime emissions had _nothing_ on the overwhelming onslaught of sensation pressing against his flesh now. Arthas unfurled his fingers, and dragged his tongue over his palm. A jolt pulled through him. Arthas may have noticed him shiver – he went ahead and did it again, and again, and the fourth time he started lower, at the thin and sensitive place just below Uther’s wrist. His tongue dragged over the vein there, that throbbed under delicate skin, and as it stroked over the mound beneath his thumb Uther felt something deep inside him give way completely. Rooted deep in his pelvis, a hot glow radiated, pulsing sweetly and spreading like a dawn over the horizon. It crested over his shoulders and his back. The muscles in his core released in regiments, his breath was punched from his lungs by how beautiful it felt. Around his fingers Arthas groaned in satisfaction.

“Did it feel good?” He breathed, releasing Uther’s hand and pulling himself close enough that even in the pitch black, Uther could sense he was less than an inch from his face.

“Yes,” Uther confessed, as the sensation began to evaporate from him, replaced by a sense of contentment to his marrow. “wonderful.”

“Mmm.”

Arthas kissed him again, slow and languid this time, before he pulled away and rolled onto his back on the bedroll beside him.

“It was good,” he affirmed softly, and even though he wasn’t conscious of it, Uther shivered without covers in the cold.

Outside the circle of their tent, the storm raged on. 

**Author's Note:**

> I will probably check in on this again tomorrow and like. fix any mistakes i missed since its 2am.
> 
> xoxo gossip garf


End file.
